


Isolated Silence

by TwistedViolets



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Haircuts, Incest, Klaus and his skirt obsession, Klaus centric, Klaus is a little brat, Klaus is tired, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Train Rides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedViolets/pseuds/TwistedViolets
Summary: After Klaus misbehaves Reginald decides he's too untrustworthy to be left alone while he goes on his business trip and as a result Reginald drags him along.What starts off as a boring punishment slowly turns into a uncomfortable nightmare as Klaus learns the real reason why his father   brought him along.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/Reginald Hargreeves
Comments: 4
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For once I won’t spoil things...Probably. I haven’t had any real time to check this over but I’ll be back at some point to I promise! 
> 
> Tags will update with the story as always. <3

He should have known better, he really should have, but it was just too appealing, the skirt Allison hung up on her door. The small little wink she gave him, telling him it's his, and his hands got all sweaty like they usually did when he thought about doing something so taboo.

He could wait, he should've, his father would be departing soon and wouldn't be returning for a whole week. He could have waited to wear it...but it just kept calling to him each time he turned his back to it.

So he stole it off her door and put it in his room. He sat it on his bed gingerly, telling himself he didn't need it. The yellow dull color mashes with the bright pink polka dots and it looks disgusting like wallpaper...yet, he just couldn't get it out of his head.

The thought of him, wearing it, letting his legs breathe for once as he abandoned the tight suits. It was a terribly intoxicating thought that he couldn't fight...so he took off his pants, he had to jump around to get them off because he was so excited his hands wouldn't work right.

He slipped on the skirt nice and easy and almost melted from it. The relief, the freedom, the danger of wearing it flooded him until his knees grew weak and he fell on to his bed with a satisfying thud.

A small smile falls on his lips and he does his best to wipe off his sweaty hands on to his sheets and not on the skirt.

He doesn't know how long he sat like that, admiring his legs, how pale they are, how each time he crossed them they looked smooth and soft. He got self-absorbed in this part of his body, the one he never quite saw like this any other time...Sure he saw them when he bathed but this is different.

Then he heard his door handle jingle and it made his heart drop. He quickly grabbed a pillow and threw it over his lap, his cheeks are on fire because of how shook up he is. He didn't even hear anyone coming, nothing at all, but as his door creaks open he knows it's just because he was so distracted with his legs.

It's embarrassing.

And to make everything worse, to make this whole scene one off a horror flick...his father opens the door. He stands there in the doorway, hand on his cane, his eyes narrowed, and the monocle reflects light making it look more like a mirror than anything.

It takes a minute for everything to register. The pillow on his lap, barely covering the skirt...or maybe it isn't at all, he can't dare risk looking down. He's too scared, absolutely terrified.

He's an idiot an absolute idiot. Why didn't he wait until his father left? Why did he have to do something so reckless? The answers lie in the fabric around his hips and the air that tickles his thighs.

"Number Four," His father said with no emotion to his voice, whether that was because he doesn't see the skirt or he does is beyond him.

"Yes?" He squeaks and he immediately blushes more, just hating how immature he sounds.

"What are you hiding there?"

He swallows and contemplates his options. He could tell the truth and die. He could not tell the truth and die. It seems really fifty-fifty which option will leave him with less broken bones.

So he opts to tell the truth, although he can feel his heartstrings snapping and a silent dull voice in the back of his head telling him he's an idiot. But what else is he supposed to do? Throw the pillow at his dad before trying to slip by him? Yeah, he'd definitely be dead meat if he tried that.

He slowly lifts up the pillow and he looks away while he does it. He can't stand to his father's face right now. He knows it's going to show disappointment and he has to face the fact that it's all his fault. He doesn't want to do that and he wishes he could stop but he can't.

Skirts are just apart of him...like makeup.

"Number Four, Come here." 

He doesn't look at his father's face still, he'll never be able, not like this. He stands and walks to his father while staring at the wooden floorboards. His thoughts all yell at him for being such an idiot. He did this to himself.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees his father's hand raising and he braces himself for what he knows is coming. He clenches his eyes together, and flinches when the hand comes down...but he doesn't feel anything. He opens his eyes just as his hair is tugged.

"Hey!" He gasps, glaring up at his father who doesn't seem to notice his feeble protests. "That hurts."

"Indeed it would," his father pulls on a curl before shaking his head in disgust. "Your hair compliments your skirt nicely...you could pass for a member of the opposite sex,” His father says all this while a frown spreads across his lips, so disgusted at him, at this disappointment he is.

What kind of boy likes girl things? Not one his father would want.

"We must cut it," His father declares, dropping his hand from his hair and turning around with newfound ambition. 

"I like my hair like this," he sulks as he follows behind his father, dragging his feet as he goes. Still on edge, still waiting for the ball to drop and his punishment to begin.

"It is unprofessional."

He doesn't argue because arguing with his father is like arguing with a brick wall...but worse, because unlike brick walls his father tents to fight fire with fire.

————————————————————

His father, despite wearing a coat, and his suitcases just inches away from him, decides to cut his hair. It is a horrid experience, the kitchen chair is hard, his father yanks and pulls and snips where ever he pleases without so much of a warning.

It is uncomfortable, definitely since he senses his siblings eyes on him but he can't turn his head to see them. They don't make a single peep whether that's from the hair cutting or the skirt that's still on his legs isn't important. The fact is that they are just watching this because it's entertaining and that doesn't sit well with him.

His father yanks his head again, pulling his hair so hard his scalp burns but he knows that's only because he's fighting it. His father isn't pulling that hard, it's actually quite gentle. But he's so rebellious that he makes it hurt anyway.

His father snips a few more curls off and rubs his hand over his scalp, removing any hair strands that haven't fallen to the floor yet. When he's done he takes a step back and presses a finger to his own chin, his eyes scan him as he sits there with distaste on his tongue.

He lets his eyes drift to his siblings, which turns out just to be Vanya, sitting on the stairs and look down at him with concern. He looks back to his father and crosses his hands over his chest.

"Much better," His father says while His mother walks out from the kitchen with a broom. She begins to clean up the hair that litters the floor without so much as a word to either of them.

"Now, if you would, please put on something presentable. I will not tolerate you wearing that in public."

He stands and walks away, biting his tongue to resist saying anything mean because God knows he's just been let off the chain but it's in his nature to ruin nice things. He walks past Vanya with a sigh and she follows behind him soon after.

"You look nice," she tells him, just trying to make him feel better he knows.

"Thanks," he mutters bitterly as he walks into his room and digs through his dresser. He pulls out a pair of pants and slips off his skirt before putting the pants on, only afterward realizing he could have just put on the pants on his bed. He almost wants to slap himself but doesn't.

When he looks back to Vanya she's looking away with pink tinting her cheeks. "Why are you-" he stops and just shrugs when she looks back. He was about to ask a stupid question.

"Are you leaving?"

It hits him hard that...his father did tell him to get dressed because he'd be going in public. He was so caught up being bitter that it didn't register until now and it sets his veins on fire.

"I suppose I might be? I've got fish to fry and places to take over you know?" He jokes at least try to but he's so bitter that it all just comes out a little aggressive.

"Oh," his sister says, almost like she doesn't know what else to say.

He sighs and looks out to the hallway, at his other sibling's door who are patiently waiting for their father to go on his business trip.

————————————————————

As with most things, somehow, someway, he was roped into going on this ridiculous business trip. The one where his father goes to meet with an old friend or a business partner and they discuss boring old men things for hours.

It is ridiculous and he can't help but think that somehow this is his punishment for wearing the skirt. His father wouldn't even let him pack a bag or bring a change of clothes. He just told him that they'd be late if he did something unnecessary like that.

His father drives the old Rolls Royce and his eyes never shift from the road. It's silent besides the radio which has old, staticky men talking about something or another. He can't understand them.

"Why do I have to come?” He groans, crossing his arms across his chest as he throws his head against the headrest.

His father doesn't look at him when he speaks. "You would have been a danger with the way you've been misbehaving."

He rolls his eyes before pressing his forehead against the window. "Yeah? I was totally planning on burning down the house in a skirt." He watches the passing trees with little interest while his father grips the steering wheel tighter.

He's walking a thin line, talking back like this...talking at all.

"Where are we going?"

He receives no answer and the dip on his stomach prevents him from saying any more. He's got a bad feeling about this, about all the boring things that are coming. Him sitting and being forced to listen to old man chatter and never-ending business mumbo jumbo.

He groans again at the mere thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this hasn’t really been checked over. I’ll get to it tomorrow probably.

They end up stopping at a diner of sorts. He's so tired and at that point, he barely even realized the vehicle had stopped moving let alone that his father had disappeared. It takes him a good few minutes to catch up with him and when he does his father's posture spells out disapproval.

They sit at a booth and a smell of coffee and cake waft around them. Both smells his father absolutely finds disgusting but in his drowsy state he finds the thought of cake quite pleasing. Just one piece wouldn't hurt him but be that as it may, he's just too over everything to even try to talk his dad into it.

They've been on the road for a while. Still no set destination ahead or a real-time to be wherever they're going even though his father had said they were going to be late. He can't help but think his father said that just to be a dick.

His father gets tea and a newspaper which he reads with more interest than he shows in most other things. It's a very strange sight and he can't help but think that people are staring at them and although he should be used to it he's not. Not at all.

"A stack of pancakes," he tells the waitress who writes down his order and leaves with a nod.

Silence creeps around them, the only sounds coming from a tv broadcasting the news. It's too early for there to be any other customers except a few old folks.

He leans his head on his hand and plays with what little hair he has. He liked it long, when he could wrap his fingers around his little curls, but now they're gone and it feels like he's missing a part of himself. A hole is in his heart and it isn't going to be filled anytime soon.

"Here you go sweetie," the waitress sits down his plate, a stack of pancakes which is three, a small container of butter, and the normal orange juice. "Enjoy," she gives him a small smile as she goes back to the kitchen.

He eats more slowly than usual, seeing as they aren't getting anywhere soon and his father doesn't seem keen on rushing anymore. Each bite is strangely dry and no matter how much butter he puts on or water he drinks the dry residue stays and he's forced to come to the realization that it's him.

His mouth is dry. He's worried about this stupid trip and it's not like him to worry. It's so unnatural that it feels weird even running his tongue over his teeth when they feel so dry and almost decayed.

He needs some sleep. He picks up the pace and eats a little quicker because the faster he gets done the faster he can get on the road and he can sleep.

"Slow down," his father scolds and his eyes are still locked on the newspaper. "You are a human, not a pig so please act like it."

He mumbles a little underneath his breath but he goes back to eating slow and steady.

————————————————————

In the car, he sleeps for the rest of the ride. He doesn't really dream, at least he can't really remember much aside from a large pancake chasing him or something similar. 

He awakes to the sound of people, lots of people. It's a bustling train station he realizes after a little squinting and blinking at harsh lights. 

His father once again leaves him behind. When he finally gets unbuckled and out of the vehicle his father has already gotten his suitcase from the back of the car and he rolls it behind him.

"Come," his father simply commands and he simply follows, feeling a lot like a dog but even dogs are treated better.

His father punches some numbers into a machine, gives it his credit card, and out pops two train tickets. He is handed up and they continue on their way. Walking past mothers holding their child's hand, walking past families who sleep on benches, walking past judgmental people who stare at them.

They probably know who they are, The Monocle and Séance. This probably looks strange because his father very rarely took his children on business meetings and even then it was always Luther.

He ignores the whispers of those they pass by as he follows behind his father more closely. Finding himself being more self-conscious then he thought possible but the limelight can do that to you he supposes...and lack of sleep despite the fact that he did in-fact sleep an hour or two.

They just manage to get on the train before it leaves. They really did have a deadline but his father just ignored it. His father leads them to a small room on the train, almost as if he had known exactly where it was, and he's forced to think that maybe his dad gets the same room each time he goes on this trip.

His father sits his suitcase in one corner before sitting on a small couch. The only thing that really sits this room as something to be wary about is the fact that it only has one bed. But it's only a brief moment of weariness when he figures that his father will most likely force him to sleep on the couch, which is fine. 

It's probably not even that bad.

"I'll be back. Do not leave this room," His father tells him, very strictly before exiting without another explanation.

He walks over to the bed, mimicking his father's voice underneath his breath as if it's some sort of rebellious gesture before he lands face first on the bed. It's comfortable, it's warm, it...smells good. He curls in a ball, closing his eyes, telling himself he'll just be another moment and then he'll get up and act like it never even happened.

Klaus doesn't get up. His breath evens out and he can't even remember the moment his mind stopped working and he started to dream of wearing a skirt. A purple laced one around his house...and his father accepting him. It's, of course, an absolutely unrealistic dream and that's probably the thing that woke him.

When his eyes adjust to the room he realizes it's dark outside from the small amount of moonlight the flutters through the window blinds. He sits up, his head spins and his eyes seem a little heavy and there on the couch is his father once again, except he's staring directly at him, eyes narrowed, and a small gleam inside that says something he can't even comprehend.

His hands start to sweat and he can't help but take a few shaky breathes as he goes to stand. His father's eyes narrow even more as if it was possible and he goes ice cold.


End file.
